


Defragment

by friendlytroll



Category: Half-Life
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Cybernetics, Gen, I do what I want, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medical Procedures, but also that's barneys boyfriend so, no gordon showing up yet, of the 'drinking to fall asleep' variety, probably not cannon compliant but also, temporary memory loss issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlytroll/pseuds/friendlytroll
Summary: Barneys given up a lot for the Rebellion. He doesn't mind that so much; if he's got anything left that's his to give, he'll lay it all on the line just for the chance to protect what's left of the people closest to him.He just wishes he could remember exactly what it was he gave up this time. He can't remember, just yet.But all the important things are starting to come back to him. Bit by bit.-----A fic about Barney Calhoun recovering from the risks he takes in the name of becoming a spy for the Resistance, piecing his memory back together. Contains some descriptions of pain/injury, temporary memory loss, me getting in my feelings about Barney Calhoun again, and generally a fun time had with trying to piece together world building.Draws on information and characters from Half Life Alyx, but does not contain spoilers.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun & Alyx Vance, Barney Calhoun & Eli Vance, Barney Calhoun & Russell (Half-Life), Barney Calhoun/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 100





	Defragment

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will write a story where only very nice things happen to Barney Calhoun. Honest. He'll get there eventually. 
> 
> BASICALLY been working through Half Life Alyx with friends and Russel bringing up that combine weaponry is gene locked, BUT clearly stating he can both *modify* someones genes to open a lock, or open gene locked items on his own...? Wound up meshing together with my personal headcannon that Barney dips in and out of the combine by yanking someones ID and taking their slot for as long as he can handle it. (Which is why he can even do things like double back to kleiner's lab, but still can't risk being noticed)
> 
> So then I thought about that a lot. And then somehow what popped out was more exploratory fic about Barneys experiences and struggles. Which, you know. I'm actually very happy with, myself.

The ceiling was green, and someone was talking to Barney calhoun. 

He’s not sure how long his eyes have been open. There’s cloth under his hand. He’s focused on. Moving his hand…?

He blinked slowly, and dimly realized he could only do so on one side. The other felt. Dark. Stuck? Numb. But that numb with a dim ache under it like a bad dental filling. Other sensations were. There. A lot of it was numb with heat on the surface, and even in his confused state he didn’t have any urge to think about it too hard. 

There was something interrupting the green. Paper, taped up onto the ceiling carefully, scribble-filled dense with dark crayons, and then delicately scraped away into little star shapes, showing the color-tinted white paper underneath. He’d seen that before plenty. Lauren- she’d shown him.  _ One of his big sisters. He’d shown it to the littler ones then him. and then hed…? _

_ He’d shown how to Alyx. One of those nights where she couldn’t sleep, because god damn it she was nine years old and should not have had to be worrying if her dad was coming back hurt, or if he was coming back at all. And he was awake. Because after Black Mesa, sometimes Barney just. Didn’t sleep anymore, sometimes. Not without a lot of… whatever he could get his hands on to drink.  _

_ Mostly vodka.  _

_ But he’d always put his glass aside if she showed up, and spend time with her, because even if the whole world was falling apart he could at least hold it together for his little buddy. He’d shown her how whatever you layered the paper with first would show through when you scraped it with her little swiss army knife.  _

Barney flexes his hand, trying to raise it even though he doesn’t remember why yet.

There was writing on the edge of the drawing, but it was blurry. God she was a good kid. He hoped she wasn’t mad at him for… for. 

_ Sometimes when she came to hang out with him he’d dig out a can of juice or soda he pretended he hadn’t stashed away just for her, hadn’t hidden away in his limited scavenging pack instead of (ironically) a bottle of beer. She was his little ‘drinking buddy’, after all. Because a kid needs something special, and fun, even if maybe one day she’d realize what a wreck he was. And he’d told her that someday when she was old enough, she could try what he was drinking. And she’d asked him to promise. _

_ A pinky promise.  _

_ It’d hurt bad to look her in the eyes and promise he’d make it back. He was just going to be gone a few weeks. A few months, at worst. She could look after Kleiner for him, right? He just needed to…  _

_ Just needed. To. _

What  _ had _ he… done? Why was he this laid up.

Someone was talking to him again. Focusing was hard- it felt like he was curled up inside a deep hole in his own head, just barely feeling his way out. Heat had bloomed in his back, centered around a winding solid… something. The heat was on the inside of his skin. It was in his neck, too, and the prospect of moving his head to see who was talking to him seemed daunting. 

“...with us, Barney. Come on. Can you hear me? I need you still in there” 

Eli. Eli was talking. God he wanted to sleep. But he couldn’t. Why? It was  _ important _ . 

...Jesus Eli sounded rough. Eli had sounded rough for a long time, mind but this was. Especially strained. Firm. That’s confusing. Eli wouldn’t be tormenting him for no reason if he was just sleeping off… whatever happened to him. Maybe a strider stepped on him? That’d explain his back. He- 

Eli was still talking.

_ Because they had to work fast _ .

_ If there was a problem they needed to know immediately. He’d been focusing on it when he was going under. How he needed to wake up. What he was doing this for. On… someone. Good memories.  _

_ A hand in his. He’d been thinking of a hand in his, but it slips away a little.  _

It took a lot of focus he did not in any way really have to raise his hand. And every time he wavered, he forgot what he was doing. But so long as he stared at the drawing, the same loop of re-remembering began again. Just a little easier each time. Each time it stutters out at the end, but inch by inch, even just the memory of the something-important that was supposed to be there helps Barney get his legs under him. 

He raises his hand around about when it no longer takes effort to remember Alyx, shaky and wavering. 

“Oh, thank  _ god _ . Okay. Okay.” Eli murmured. Barney can make out a shadow to one side. Maybe. Hard to tell. Sounded like it was on that side. Talking was completely out of the question. He could barely feel most of his face, for one thing. Even if he’d felt particularly like he could have formed the words, he didn’t need to add ‘bit his own tongue clean off’ to his list of problems. 

“Alright, then. Brace yourself, this is probably gonna hurt. Soon as this is done, we can get you fixed up. I promise.” The shadow comes into focus a little more, and Barney, for all the numbness in his body, feels his head being lifted up. Something feels. Off. Stiff. Like there’s something on his- 

_ There is something under his skin _ . 

Eli’s hand is on the back of his neck, holding it steady. Something shifts outside of barney’s vision. And it does hurt, when Eli plugs something directly into the back of his neck. Even with whatever the hell he has in his system numbing him out, it's still ‘thumbtack to the heel’  _ sharp _ , enough to make him inhale sharply. That hurts too. Not in the ribs, which is a relief, but where his shoulders hitched lit *something* up right in the middle and it feels. Wrong. . 

“Alright, there we go… just gotta run a few tests. And then you can sleep, Barney.” Eli assures him. There’s light now. A screen. Screens. Barney’s head is eased down on the pillow and, just slightly, a hand gently smooths back his hair. If he could speak, he’d have teased him about what a ‘dad’ move it was. Man wasn’t even all THAT much older than Barney. Here he is acting all… all. 

_ In his other hand,  _ Barney remembers now, _ Eli has a device that will shut Barney down like a light switch. Because Barney had insisted. Over and over again. It needed to be fast. It needed to be right to hand. He needed to be ready.  _

_ “If I’m gonna be coming back wired up like a damn cattle fence… I need to be sure I’m not takin’ something back with me. I need to have somebody I trust makin’ the call.” _

_ Kleiner had been who’d talked Eli into it. Mostly because Kleiner had been ready to volunteer himself, so Eli had stepped forward.  _

_ Because the fail state of this wasn’t just putting Barney under to try to shut off the network of wring and implanted machinery. That was next steps. The fail state- and Barney had stressed, again and again, this needed to be what happened if it needs to happen- is that Eli Vance puts his thumb print to the little scan screen, clicks the little red button, and Barney Calhoun doesn’t wake up ever again.  _

_ Because they didn’t know if the Combine installed traps in their tech. Or if the rescue hadn’t made it in time- if the window between the helmet jack system being installed and when they programmed it was thinner than they had all thought. For all they knew, maybe before they ever even put in the wiring, they would just press a button and everything that genuinely made him Barney Calhoun in any way that matters would just be gone. _

_ Eli had protested. Russel had been uncomfortable, even if it was his work with the combines genetic encryption that made this all worth the gamble. Kleiner had been furious. But he’d asked, all the same, that the man he’d already trusted with his life as a commander would hold that little emergency remote.  _

_ Because if he opened his eyes again and all that was left inside him believed in the Combine, he needed to know someone would as good as put a bullet between his eyes. _

_ Someone who’d give him every chance they could take.  _

“You still with us, Barney?”

The heat in Barneys back felt more concrete now that he dimly remembers what it is, but much less distressing. Not panicking. He could focus enough to slowly raise his hand into a little thumbs up. His prize was a soft, relieved little laugh, and a hand patting his shoulder. 

The exhaustion is too bone deep to sign to the man just yet. He tries to lift his arm with a grunt, but. ...no he’s been tired like this, right? It just feels. Sluggish. Trying to get the command through just. Isn’t. It makes him nervous enough to try harder, smiling with faint triumph as he successfully pulls his hand up to his chest. He thumps his palm there, then points up. ...vaguely at his eye. 

“Just a precaution. The eye isn’t damaged, just bandaged up. Bastards went in transorbital and- well, your eyebrow might be a little crooked when it heals. No worries about those baby blues, though.” Eli assured him. Barney takes a second to absorb this, and answers with a short ‘OK’ hand sign, resting it back against his chest. Absently he starts to flex his fingers, one by one, trying the other in turn, checking the reactions. 

“Son of a bitch, though. Look at you, Calhoun. I can’t tell you how glad to see you again..” Eli’s voice is stained with relief under the warmth. Barney might have smiled if he could. He would have shook his head if he could have. Instead he pinches his fingers together in a firm no as the best he can manage. Not yet. Finish the scans. Eli was an amazing leader, but. He was always just a little too fast to celebrate. One of these days he was going to let his guard down too fast, and Barney would be damned if it was going to be on  _ him _ . 

“Alright, alright. Just saying. The man has aliens drill into his head, and he’s  _ already _ giving me the business.” Eli said, voice still too fond for the part of Benry who needed him to be Flinty Resistance Leader Eli. ...but the part of him that feels like a trainwreck in a bed isn’t the most upset about it. 

“Guess you really were the right man for the job.” Eli adds, with a tone that’s a little. Regretful. 

That’s right. Jesus. They’d fought about this.

_ “You know I’m the only man for the job, Eli.” Barney had said firmly, staring Eli down with his hands on his hips.  _

_ “It’s too risky, Barney. We can’t-” _

_ Calling the room they’d been in the war room was a little dramatic. So of course Russel had at every possible opportunity. But really it hadn’t been much more than the first room with enough space for the gear it took to even scrape the barest scraps of information about just how the Combine was screwing the vice closed that goddamn day.  _

_ “We need a foothold. Their communication channels, their moves, their plans- if we want the resistance to survive we need eyes on the inside. And there’s only the one way to DO that, Eli!” _

Something from one of the machines chirps, and Barney grits his teeth a little, because he can’t lose this fight.  _ The Combines were going to consolidate the facilities they used for their transhuman ‘upgrades’. Somewhere more secure. Somewhere they’d never have any hope of going back in after someone. Right then the Combine was complacent, and all too eager for all the recruits they could get, and rumor had it anyone who’d worked in law enforcement was first in the line for the perks of climbing the ranks.  _

_ It was Russel who’d realized the genetic imprints were nothing more than a password. His devices could copy the signature of a combine agent well enough to fool their systems you were that person. But the hardware needed to be there. And the only way to get it was if it was installed the hard way. _

_ “It’s gotta be me. I can take it. I don’t have anything on my record as an anticitizen yet. They can’t pin anything on me-” _

_ “Except that you worked at Black MESA, Barney!” _

_ “I worked security at black mesa. Besides. You know he wants to tie up  _ **_those_ ** _ loose ends.” _

_ And Eli hadn’t had anything to counter that. He’d just gone quiet, and folded his hands. And looked at him in a tired way Barney was already used to.  _

_ “...Even just getting there is going to mean months, maybe longer of deep cover, Barney. You’re going to be all alone in that- that rat’s nest. If you get caught-” _

_ “I won’t.” _

He hadn’t. 

Barney remembered that now, too. The long, endless hours spent in the heart of the combine, under an entry level civil protection officer helmet. No contact with anyone involved with the resistance. Living a lie so completely that the only way he’d been able to sleep with how bad he hated himself for it was by remembering the goal. And with a stiff drink. Or two. 

Though that hadn’t been too unusual even without the horrible weight of the metro combine uniform making him want to claw his own skin off.

“The tests are almost done. So far everything looks clean, so. Hopefully soon we can start installing the  _ fun _ stuff. And you can get some shut eye. How are you holding up?” Eli must have been worried he was drifting off again, Barney reckoned, but the nudge wasn’t unappreciated. Whatever meds he’d been dosed with were fading. It made it harder to stay focused. But it also gave him a. Pretty good extent of how much had been...worked on.

He flexed his hands a little. There was a little soreness there. Arms, too. Deep in next to the bone. But it has the twinge of muscle soreness. Good sign? Meant they hadn’t renovated too deep. And maybe he could sign a little less. Half assed. Even if Eli could understand him okay. Funny, that. Must have been because…

Because? For a second it escapes him. He stares up at the ceiling, the ghost of the memory of a hand in his flickering a little. A hand in his, rising, and gesturing in the same wobbly way. Familiar. 

_ Because the man whose hand he’d gone under thinking about had always worked himself tired if you let him. And his hands would move in vague, sleepy little gestures when he was about to crash, or had fixed whatever problem had been bothering him. If he hadn’t you got short and sharp, and one handed because he was drinking coffee.  _

_ He’d had to physically help him out of the lab once or twice- arm locked tight around his shoulders as he had vaguely waved a few last words at Eli about how seven am was SO a time of night, if you weren’t a coward.  _

_ The memory of what his voice had sounded like had been one of the first things to go; he only knew it was soft, and quiet, and rasped on the edges from lack of use. Something rare, and utterly private. A memory of a memory.  _

_ But he’d always remember what Gordon Freemans hand felt like against his, and how much he’d loved watching him talk about. Just about anything.  _

The green ceiling blurred above Barney.

His hands move stiffly. But he knows this one. He’s signed it as often as he’s said it now. It had crept in when ‘I’m Okay’ had begun to feel hollow.

He gestures over his shoulders with one hand, raises his thumbs up, and then forms a V with the first two fingers of both hands, crossing them over his chest, thumping his hands back into his chest partially with emphasis and partially because the motions are still. Stiff. Halting. 

‘ **I’ve survived worse** ’. 

He has to let his arms kind of just. Drop after that, the paltry motion exhausting. Eli hums a little and rests a hand on his shoulder. There’s no words, for a second. Just a firm, sympathetic squeeze. 

“I know the feeling.” Eli says, his prosthetic tapping the ground as he pulls his hand away to look at something. Barney wasn’t really able to smile just yet, but he was pretty sure he could haul the corner up a little bit, and that had the same feeling. Not exactly happiness. But just. 

This wasn’t the worst day of his life. 

It wasn’t even the  _ second  _ worst day of his life.  _ That  _ was-

_ The heat of the particulate filtering mask and the moulding water smell of black mesa’s rubble. Broken concrete under his feet. The shattered ruins of Lambda lab. Something had flooded. _

_ Water washing over the formal shoes of the man who should not have been there.  _

_ A crow bars weight in his hand. _

“...Hot damn. Alright, good news, Barney.” Eli says, jostling Barney back out of his thoughts. He blinks, slightly confused, watching as Eli leaned into his view for the first time. His eyes were a little red, but the man's crows feet were really second to none when he grins. 

“You’re clean. Which means YOU can go the damn hell to sleep, and  _ we _ can get started on patching you the hell up.” Eli says, positively shining with relief, and pride. This time Barney’s pretty sure he really does smile. Pretty sure.

“So, on a scale from 1 to 10, how much pain meds you think it’ll take to knock you the hell out, Calhoun?” Eli asks. 

Barney considers this, looks him in the eyes, and firmly signs YES as emphatically as he can manage. The guffawed laugh that gets back is mostly relief, but. He’ll take it. 

When he does get to fall asleep, it’s blissfully easy. Triumph sits fierce and delicate in his chest as the meds and exhaustion take him, the only fight left in him being kind of a nervous poke around his mind to make sure he had all the important bits. The really, really important things.

_ The little shitty dorm room couch could barely fit the two of them. It made a good excuse to cuddle close together, Gordons back to Barney’s chest.  _

_ Their fingers entwined together, silent but sort of talking to each other with soft little squeezing presses, as Barney admires Gordons profile in the flickering television light, and the fading desert sunrise outside his topside dorm.  _

_ When the line from memory to dream crosses without him noticing, he dreams of Gordons hand tracing against his back, too, finding the wires there. But when he looks up, he only sees a patient, worried smile.  _

**Author's Note:**

> (He forgets the dream easily; but not the smile. Never the smile. But the dream lingers, just enough to give him a strange sense of deja vu, years and years later.)


End file.
